Sunday, January 30, 2005
Educate The Kids, Change The World!
As more Iraq election news comes in, my optimism grows. Check out some Iraq election day photos and comments from Beef Always Wins, and also from Iraq The Model. Also, help the Iraqi kids, and give them a bright future!
Wild Rice! - (also called " Mahnoomin, Folle Avoine, Canadian Rice, Water Oats, Blackbird Oats, and Marsh Oats")
FALL! 2003! I loved the fall. Cool mornings, usually sunny skies, shorter days, moose-hunting season, beautiful colours in the bush, and, oh yeah, "Wild Rice"!
I blasted off from Silver Falls on the Winnipeg River in Manitoba. I was making a short flight of about 6-7 minutes duration to a "Wild Rice"-producing lake northeast of our base. As soon as I was airborne I could see fog in the distance and through "Murphy's Law" I knew that the lake I was going to would be covered. I decided to continue on as it was only a short distance. If I couldn't see the lake, I would return to base.
I arrived at the lake, which we call "Round Lake", and started to orbit. The fog was covering the lake, but I was starting to be able to see holes in the fog and occasionally the lake surface below. "Holy Crap", I muttered, as through one hole I watched the rice-picker skim by on the surface. I figured I would circle down and see if I could get down through a hole and land.
Round Lake is normally a well-producing wild rice lake, usually yielding about 70,000 lbs. of green rice yearly. It is very shallow with a loon-shit bottom, and is tricky to operate into and out of if the wind is wrong. One can only land and power taxi in two opposite directions, as water-rudders are useless due to the thickness of the rice and the fact that you are dragging bottom to get to the dock. Once at the dock, rice is loaded aboard the aircraft, and one has to be vigilant in calculating the load aboard, as the floats do not displace fully due to the fact you are sitting on bottom. One then warms up beside the dock, and opens the throttle, and takes off. Overcoming what displacement there is to "get on the step" is made easy as the aircraft basically becomes airborne right out of the mud. A lot of fun when the wind is correct, a royal pain in the ass when the wind is wrong.
I watched the picker go by again, and timed my descent. I will get underneath the low cloud cover (basically the fog as it was lifting), and circle to land. If it is still too low, I will climb back up and go back to base. Today I was flying Otter C-GHYB, with a 1000 HP Pezetel engine and DC-3 prop. I made it underneath the cloud cover and banked to land in the tracks in the rice and mud that we had made earlier in the week. I powered to the dock and was met by my friend Lindsay. His brother Barry was on the picker and I figure his heart beat erratically for a minute or two as I came through the cloud hole. This was not anything unsafe, just startling for him, I'm sure, to suddenly see an airplane, and not to have heard it due to the rice-picker noise.
Wild rice is an annual aquatic grass, and the only cereal grain that is native to North America, and has been a staple for the aboriginal people for at least a thousand years. It is very high in protein and carbohydrates, and very low in fat. It is also high in potassium and phosphorous content, and full of thiamine, riboflavin, and niacin (B vitamins).
The native people used to harvest wild rice
by canoe, knocking the long stems so that the ripe seeds would fall into the bottom of the canoes. Once an amount was gathered, it would be cooked over an open fire until hard. Then, it would be spread on a hide on the ground, and stepped on to dislodge the chaff from the kernel. Then it was thrown upwards in the air, with the chaff being blown away, and the kernel returning to the hide. Today, wild rice is cooked in large rotary grain-roasters, then agitated and screened according to size, with the chaff being separated, a very interesting process. As for the harvest of wild rice today, it is usally done with a twin-pontooned airboat powered by an automotive or aircraft engine turning a prop, with a large "header" in the front to gather the rice.
Barry pulled the airboat onto the landing and I greeted him. Then, he, Lindsay, and I loaded up old HYB with a load of wild rice. I bid them adieu, warmed up my horse, opened the throttle, and whistled into the sky. I repeated this scenario a few more times that day, and cleaned up the rice they had on hand at the lake. They would "pick" the lake again in a few more days, and we would go haul some more rice. A lot of fun when weather conditions are right, and just another day in my life.
Taxiing in and parking in the "grain" field...
ABOVE: Getting to the dock can be tricky. MIDDLE: C-GHYB and her picking partner.... BELOW: The boys at work after dumping the "header" of rice...
I blasted off from Silver Falls on the Winnipeg River in Manitoba. I was making a short flight of about 6-7 minutes duration to a "Wild Rice"-producing lake northeast of our base. As soon as I was airborne I could see fog in the distance and through "Murphy's Law" I knew that the lake I was going to would be covered. I decided to continue on as it was only a short distance. If I couldn't see the lake, I would return to base.
I arrived at the lake, which we call "Round Lake", and started to orbit. The fog was covering the lake, but I was starting to be able to see holes in the fog and occasionally the lake surface below. "Holy Crap", I muttered, as through one hole I watched the rice-picker skim by on the surface. I figured I would circle down and see if I could get down through a hole and land.
Round Lake is normally a well-producing wild rice lake, usually yielding about 70,000 lbs. of green rice yearly. It is very shallow with a loon-shit bottom, and is tricky to operate into and out of if the wind is wrong. One can only land and power taxi in two opposite directions, as water-rudders are useless due to the thickness of the rice and the fact that you are dragging bottom to get to the dock. Once at the dock, rice is loaded aboard the aircraft, and one has to be vigilant in calculating the load aboard, as the floats do not displace fully due to the fact you are sitting on bottom. One then warms up beside the dock, and opens the throttle, and takes off. Overcoming what displacement there is to "get on the step" is made easy as the aircraft basically becomes airborne right out of the mud. A lot of fun when the wind is correct, a royal pain in the ass when the wind is wrong.
I watched the picker go by again, and timed my descent. I will get underneath the low cloud cover (basically the fog as it was lifting), and circle to land. If it is still too low, I will climb back up and go back to base. Today I was flying Otter C-GHYB, with a 1000 HP Pezetel engine and DC-3 prop. I made it underneath the cloud cover and banked to land in the tracks in the rice and mud that we had made earlier in the week. I powered to the dock and was met by my friend Lindsay. His brother Barry was on the picker and I figure his heart beat erratically for a minute or two as I came through the cloud hole. This was not anything unsafe, just startling for him, I'm sure, to suddenly see an airplane, and not to have heard it due to the rice-picker noise.
Wild rice is an annual aquatic grass, and the only cereal grain that is native to North America, and has been a staple for the aboriginal people for at least a thousand years. It is very high in protein and carbohydrates, and very low in fat. It is also high in potassium and phosphorous content, and full of thiamine, riboflavin, and niacin (B vitamins).
The native people used to harvest wild rice
by canoe, knocking the long stems so that the ripe seeds would fall into the bottom of the canoes. Once an amount was gathered, it would be cooked over an open fire until hard. Then, it would be spread on a hide on the ground, and stepped on to dislodge the chaff from the kernel. Then it was thrown upwards in the air, with the chaff being blown away, and the kernel returning to the hide. Today, wild rice is cooked in large rotary grain-roasters, then agitated and screened according to size, with the chaff being separated, a very interesting process. As for the harvest of wild rice today, it is usally done with a twin-pontooned airboat powered by an automotive or aircraft engine turning a prop, with a large "header" in the front to gather the rice.
Barry pulled the airboat onto the landing and I greeted him. Then, he, Lindsay, and I loaded up old HYB with a load of wild rice. I bid them adieu, warmed up my horse, opened the throttle, and whistled into the sky. I repeated this scenario a few more times that day, and cleaned up the rice they had on hand at the lake. They would "pick" the lake again in a few more days, and we would go haul some more rice. A lot of fun when weather conditions are right, and just another day in my life.
Taxiing in and parking in the "grain" field...
ABOVE: Getting to the dock can be tricky. MIDDLE: C-GHYB and her picking partner.... BELOW: The boys at work after dumping the "header" of rice...
Congratulations Iraqi Citizens!!
72% eligible-voter turnout, and nowhere near the violence predicted. I hope this sends a message to all factions in Iraq. The people have spoken and this should be the first step on the road to recovery. Here is hoping!
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Iraq Election
I sit at the computer and my mind wanders to the people of Iraq and realize it is 3:22 AM, Jan. 30, in Iraq, and the Iraqi election will begin at 7:00 AM Iraq time, 10:00 PM CST in Manitoba, Jan.29. I sure hope it goes as well as can be expected under the circumstances, the law-abiding peaceful citizens of Iraq need a break. I won't get into a pro and con discussion of going to war, but the reality is the "Coalition" is there now, and everything must be done to improve the lives of ordinary Iraqis, especially the children. Show them there is a better way of life, where a kid can be a kid, and not be indoctrinated with hate. Anyways, here is hoping.
One other thing, I wish the mainstream media would air on their networks the tremendous amount of "good"; ie- rebuilding and reconstruction, food aid, medicine, water, expertise, etc., that the Americans and their partners have done. All we ever see is doom and gloom, which should be reported, but show the flip-side as well. You can't tell me that with all the soldiers and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in Iraq, there isn't "good" being done. Abu Ghraib was a travesty, but is the exception, and the perpetrators will be dealt with. There are tremendous moral and dedicated people in Iraq, with honest intentions of improving quality of life for the locals. Click this LINK to find other links and different opinions of the Iraq and the Middle East situation.
In closing, I choose to be optomistic about the election. There will be violence but hopefully the voice of the people will be heard. My prayers, and many others', I'm sure, are with the Iraqi people.
One other thing, I wish the mainstream media would air on their networks the tremendous amount of "good"; ie- rebuilding and reconstruction, food aid, medicine, water, expertise, etc., that the Americans and their partners have done. All we ever see is doom and gloom, which should be reported, but show the flip-side as well. You can't tell me that with all the soldiers and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in Iraq, there isn't "good" being done. Abu Ghraib was a travesty, but is the exception, and the perpetrators will be dealt with. There are tremendous moral and dedicated people in Iraq, with honest intentions of improving quality of life for the locals. Click this LINK to find other links and different opinions of the Iraq and the Middle East situation.
In closing, I choose to be optomistic about the election. There will be violence but hopefully the voice of the people will be heard. My prayers, and many others', I'm sure, are with the Iraqi people.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
New Update On Hatred!!!
Filth being spewed by supposed people of influence. Terrible and ridiculous! This is what we are up against! Experience the simmering and embedded hatred, right HERE!!!!! The "verbal sewage" coming from the Mullahs makes me ill, as I'm sure it will make you ill also as you read the transcripts of their speeches. So-called religious leaders are saying that the tsunami was punishment for sex tourism, give me a break! So many children killed and families disrupted, a total tragedy, and some religious (so-called) leaders blaming the victims! Check out how women can be treated with the full support of the DESPOTS in power in some of the backward Middle East countries right HERE!!!!! These people are a blight on all humanity! Cheers to the people in countries with a sense of humanity who have stepped up to the forefront and have helped the tsunami victims!!
BTU Gets A Nose Job!
Hello, good to be back. I have been in Dauphin, Manitoba. I am doing a Game Survey for moose and elk with Manitoba Natural Resources, and will be posting some info on the survey in the near future. I didn't have access to a computer while I was gone, and when I returned I received some nice pictures by e-mail, and they form the basis of my story for today.
The Otter I fly today is registered C-GBTU. It is a very solid machine and a workhorse. It is Serial # 209, and was delivered to the Indian Air Force on Nov. 27, 1957. The original registration was IM-1711. It gained a few thousand hours over many years, and then "languished in anguish" for another number of years. With a tremendous increase in worth over the past 25 years, Otters were sought out in countries they were originally delivered to for purchase and refurbishment. This is how I came to know the good ship C-GBTU.
C-GBTU was purchased from the Indian Air Force in the mid-90's and overhauled in Pine Falls, (actually up-river in Silver Falls) Manitoba. The work was accomplished by Winnipeg River Aircraft and Art and Don Gaffray. The old 600 HP Pratt and Whitney 1340 CI engine was removed and a 1000HP Pezetel 1820 CI engine was installed. The Pezetel engine gave yeoman service, but time and technology march on and the decision was made to convert C-GBTU to a turbine Otter, with the engine of choice being a Walter turbine.
During the last 3 months, old C-GBTU has had her paint and her modesty stripped away but in the end it will be well worth the humility she will have suffered. She has received new paint which looks marvelous, and the 1000 HP radial has been removed, and the new turbine is being installed. She is also getting a complete new instrument panel, and has also had a Baron STOL Kit installed.
In closing, some old-timers and aviation purists will say that airplanes such as Otters and Beavers should be left as is, but conversions and upgrades such as these will keep these fine DeHavillands operating for another 50 years.
For more pictures and the full story on good old C-GBTU and her conversion, click HERE!!!
C-GBTU tethered to the dock in Thompson, Manitoba, sporting her 11' (132") 4-bladed prop and Pezetel engine. She was soon to get a nose job...
C-GBTU scoffs at the surf at Munroe Lake Lodge, Manitoba, Sept. 2003...
With tools, finesse, and Kenny's unerring eye, C-GBTU's proboscis was sculpted from a pug-like appearance to a narrow thing of beauty....
New paint makes C-GBTU a proud ship...
The "new" look of the instrument panel....
A turbine engine is just a "stove pipe and a fan"......
Once the prop is installed, and a few more items completed, C-GBTU will soldier on in the Canadian skies for many more years to come.....
C-GBTU outside and ready to face the world, the elements, and any load or trip thrown her way. The humility of the surgery is gone, and she is going back to work with an attitude, albeit a good attitude.....
The Otter I fly today is registered C-GBTU. It is a very solid machine and a workhorse. It is Serial # 209, and was delivered to the Indian Air Force on Nov. 27, 1957. The original registration was IM-1711. It gained a few thousand hours over many years, and then "languished in anguish" for another number of years. With a tremendous increase in worth over the past 25 years, Otters were sought out in countries they were originally delivered to for purchase and refurbishment. This is how I came to know the good ship C-GBTU.
C-GBTU was purchased from the Indian Air Force in the mid-90's and overhauled in Pine Falls, (actually up-river in Silver Falls) Manitoba. The work was accomplished by Winnipeg River Aircraft and Art and Don Gaffray. The old 600 HP Pratt and Whitney 1340 CI engine was removed and a 1000HP Pezetel 1820 CI engine was installed. The Pezetel engine gave yeoman service, but time and technology march on and the decision was made to convert C-GBTU to a turbine Otter, with the engine of choice being a Walter turbine.
During the last 3 months, old C-GBTU has had her paint and her modesty stripped away but in the end it will be well worth the humility she will have suffered. She has received new paint which looks marvelous, and the 1000 HP radial has been removed, and the new turbine is being installed. She is also getting a complete new instrument panel, and has also had a Baron STOL Kit installed.
In closing, some old-timers and aviation purists will say that airplanes such as Otters and Beavers should be left as is, but conversions and upgrades such as these will keep these fine DeHavillands operating for another 50 years.
For more pictures and the full story on good old C-GBTU and her conversion, click HERE!!!
C-GBTU tethered to the dock in Thompson, Manitoba, sporting her 11' (132") 4-bladed prop and Pezetel engine. She was soon to get a nose job...
C-GBTU scoffs at the surf at Munroe Lake Lodge, Manitoba, Sept. 2003...
With tools, finesse, and Kenny's unerring eye, C-GBTU's proboscis was sculpted from a pug-like appearance to a narrow thing of beauty....
New paint makes C-GBTU a proud ship...
The "new" look of the instrument panel....
A turbine engine is just a "stove pipe and a fan"......
Once the prop is installed, and a few more items completed, C-GBTU will soldier on in the Canadian skies for many more years to come.....
C-GBTU outside and ready to face the world, the elements, and any load or trip thrown her way. The humility of the surgery is gone, and she is going back to work with an attitude, albeit a good attitude.....
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Landed In God's Catcher's Mitt
It was open-water season of 1987. I was flying a Beaver on Edo 4580 floats for Little Grand Rapids Air Service. I was flying old C-GJJG south from a fishing camp north of Pauingassi, Manitoba, returning to Base. I had heard some murmurings on the radio about an aircraft being in trouble, but I had no concrete details. Then I received some information that made all the plaque in my arteries come loose.
"It is Rollie", Oliver said, "and he is down alongside the Berens River!" My heart leapt into my mouth, and I had to re-swallow it as one would a goldfish! Rollie flew for a local air carrier, and Oliver flew a twin-engined aircraft for Southeast Resource Development Council, which is a group of 9 Native communities east of Lake Winnipeg. He was actually in the area of the downed aircraft and said he would go take a look. He was also Rollie's brother! The reason anxiety was turning me into a noodle? My wife and 2 small daughters were onboard the aircraft that crashed!
Oliver made it to the crash-site and circled, and said he could see everyone on a rock away from the airplane, and that the aircraft was still upright. I found this amazing as one who knows the area well. Oliver also said a helicopter was on the way from Berens River. Of course I wanted to go to the scene myself, but obviously the helicopter was the prudent choice.
I landed back at Base and phoned the air carrier's office in Berens River to check the status of the passengers. The helicopter had made one trip, and was now returning with the second load. The passengers were flown to Berens River as it was the closest community and had a Nursing Station and airstrip. The passengers would be observed, and flown to Little Grand Rapids the next day. I finally talked to my wife, and she assured me she and my kids were OK. Relief, with a capital R!!! She had held our infant tight, and our 2 year old had bumped through the forced landing quite well. Her Cabbage Patch doll, Bernice, had lost it's hat in the crash. My daughter Kelly was quite upset. She mentioned it on the chopper ride out and on the next trip the chopper pilot retrieved it! (They evacuated the women and children first, of course.)
My wife and kids arrived in Little Grand Rapids the next day, and man, was I happy to see them! Life is so fragile.
It was learned that the engine on the aircraft, a Cessna 206, had seized. Rollie had made it to an opening beside the river and set it down upright. The nose gear, prop, and wings were damaged. The reason there wasn't more damage or injury was because the airplane had a belly-pod!! The aircraft skidded across the swamp and stayed upright, but the belly-pod was obliterated! The passengers had quickly evacuated, but one fellow seemed to be in distress. It was discovered he had survived the crash OK, but was still feeling the effects of all the 5 Star Whisky he had consumed the night previous. What a way to sober up!
This was a number of years ago, folks, and I'll give you an update. I am still married to the same woman, Lucille. Kelly, the 2 year old in the story, is a second-year university student. Kody, the infant, is in Grade 12, and President of Student Council. We have 3 other children, and continue on with every-day life. Sometimes, my mind wanders back close to 2 decades, and I shudder at what might have been, and I am thankful for what I have, and how it turned out.
Top, an aerial view of where the crash occurred. Beautiful moose country!!! Bottom, the Cessna 206 upright and damaged. The belly-pod saved the aircraft and passengers from more severe damage or injury. The aircraft was later helicoptered out.
"It is Rollie", Oliver said, "and he is down alongside the Berens River!" My heart leapt into my mouth, and I had to re-swallow it as one would a goldfish! Rollie flew for a local air carrier, and Oliver flew a twin-engined aircraft for Southeast Resource Development Council, which is a group of 9 Native communities east of Lake Winnipeg. He was actually in the area of the downed aircraft and said he would go take a look. He was also Rollie's brother! The reason anxiety was turning me into a noodle? My wife and 2 small daughters were onboard the aircraft that crashed!
Oliver made it to the crash-site and circled, and said he could see everyone on a rock away from the airplane, and that the aircraft was still upright. I found this amazing as one who knows the area well. Oliver also said a helicopter was on the way from Berens River. Of course I wanted to go to the scene myself, but obviously the helicopter was the prudent choice.
I landed back at Base and phoned the air carrier's office in Berens River to check the status of the passengers. The helicopter had made one trip, and was now returning with the second load. The passengers were flown to Berens River as it was the closest community and had a Nursing Station and airstrip. The passengers would be observed, and flown to Little Grand Rapids the next day. I finally talked to my wife, and she assured me she and my kids were OK. Relief, with a capital R!!! She had held our infant tight, and our 2 year old had bumped through the forced landing quite well. Her Cabbage Patch doll, Bernice, had lost it's hat in the crash. My daughter Kelly was quite upset. She mentioned it on the chopper ride out and on the next trip the chopper pilot retrieved it! (They evacuated the women and children first, of course.)
My wife and kids arrived in Little Grand Rapids the next day, and man, was I happy to see them! Life is so fragile.
It was learned that the engine on the aircraft, a Cessna 206, had seized. Rollie had made it to an opening beside the river and set it down upright. The nose gear, prop, and wings were damaged. The reason there wasn't more damage or injury was because the airplane had a belly-pod!! The aircraft skidded across the swamp and stayed upright, but the belly-pod was obliterated! The passengers had quickly evacuated, but one fellow seemed to be in distress. It was discovered he had survived the crash OK, but was still feeling the effects of all the 5 Star Whisky he had consumed the night previous. What a way to sober up!
This was a number of years ago, folks, and I'll give you an update. I am still married to the same woman, Lucille. Kelly, the 2 year old in the story, is a second-year university student. Kody, the infant, is in Grade 12, and President of Student Council. We have 3 other children, and continue on with every-day life. Sometimes, my mind wanders back close to 2 decades, and I shudder at what might have been, and I am thankful for what I have, and how it turned out.
Top, an aerial view of where the crash occurred. Beautiful moose country!!! Bottom, the Cessna 206 upright and damaged. The belly-pod saved the aircraft and passengers from more severe damage or injury. The aircraft was later helicoptered out.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
God Bless America!!!!
I think the "Tsunami Disaster" should really open up some people's eyes about the American people. The "only" people on earth you can "always" count on in time of crisis. What other country on earth would have two former Presidents, one 80 years old, and one recovering from heart surgery, spearheading a relief effort? American servicemen delivering medicine and water to the stricken, always being the first to help. The U.S. Government has pledged $350,000,000 so far, with more to come, I am sure, and the American people have already donated another $120,000,000 out of their own pockets!! I hope the people and countries that are always maligning the Americans do as much. The American flag and what it represents always has and always will be the standard all countries should strive towards. I have more to say on this issue, but Howard Schnauber says it MUCH better than a humble sap like myself ever could, right HERE! God Bless America!!!
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Hector's Tackle Wins The Game!!!
My brother Corey, (you know him as "Santa", or "Gene, Recessive"), is a helicopter pilot, and also prides himself on being somewhat of a story-teller. He is younger than I, and he spent time during my "early years" in Aviation as our Base Manager at a combined Float-Ski Base in Little Grand Rapids, Manitoba. He developed a love for aviation, and soon after received his Helicopter Pilot Licence from Provincial Helicopters, Lac du Bonnet, Manitoba. He then gained employment with a company, and started to gather flying hours. One of the initiations of most "green" helicopter pilots in Manitoba is to be sent to a northern community to fly the "breakup", or "freeze-up", depending on the time of year. His story takes place in the 1990's, at a community in the northern reaches of the province. I will let Corey relate what happened. It is hilarious, and here it is!!!
Okay, just to change the pattern of the last few weeks I thought I'd share a story of something that happened to me when I first started in helicopters. Everything is completely factual, with names and locations changed or ommitted to protect the innocent (I.E. Guilty!):
I was flying in my first season after getting my licence. The machine was a turbocharged piston that actually was a good performer when it wasn't overloaded (which pretty much meant when I was alone). I had just dropped off some native trappers at a fishing camp and had to take a guy and his wife back to the community we were working out of. This was all taking place during "freeze-up", when many of the northern communities of central Canada rely on helicopters for almost all transportation.
After I unloaded the guys I brought in, the people I was to bring back to town showed up with all their stuff. I stood there using four-letter words as I surveyed the pile of guns, beavers, ducks, geese, moose meat and fish that I was somehow supposed to take-off with and fly 50 miles to town. Finally, muttering under my breath, I started loading the machine...luckily(?) I had utility baskets on the side of the machine to handle the bulky articles. I quickly noticed the pile didn't seem to be diminishing as the baskets filled up... then I found out why... every time I turned my head to load the machine, someone threw more birds on the pile! When I caught them at that I swore loudly at everybody for about five minutes... the placid calm that they exhibited at my, very vituperative, onslaught told me they'd heard it all before.
So, I was finally loaded up and ready to go. In a move that preceded air-bags in cars by several years, I had securely packed ducks and geese around the front seat occupants to protect them in the event of a hard-landing. With all secure I went to full-throttle... this apparently was a signal for everyone in the camp to gather in front of the helicopter grinning toothily (some of them anyway). Brimming with confidence I calculated how many "extra" RPM's I might need to clear the trees in front of me (at this point I had such a death-grip on the cyclic I could barely squeeze the trigger due to cramping), inhaling deeply I pulled pitch, rotated and "went for it" (a very exciting if not-recommended departure procedure... however, very necessary in this "situation"). As I climbed, all the people ran under the helicopter spinning and smiling like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. "Oh well" I muttered, "it'll be a soft landing if the engine quits". As the trees approached I started to worry a bit, as it appeared the tips of the blades were barely going to clear... confirmed seconds later as the fuselage passed through two tallish trees like Lui Passaglia kicking a field goal. Suddenly the low-rotor horn sounded, "right on schedule" I thought as I lowered the collective slightly to recover RPM. As I "milked" the collective, at tree-top level, with all those people still running beneath me, I felt a bit like Wile E. Coyote, cranking that hand railway cart as he chased the roadrunner. Finally, the trees gave way to lake and I could dive, get some airspeed and silence the horn as the RPM came back into the green. I leaned back and smiled with pleasure at another successful take-off.
So, after an uneventful flight :wacko:, I landed to disgorge my passengers. It wasn't until I walked around the front of the machine that I discovered (by tripping on it) a steel wire, roughly the size and consistency of very thick guitar string, hanging off the pitot tube. It was wrapped very tightly around the tube, and then trailed over the toe of the left skid and thence down the left side of the aircraft for about 40 feet. Since this put the wire well past the tailrotor... which was on the same side... I had a moment of pride that I always flew in trim :blink:.
At this point was where my finely honed "pilot instincts" took over. I ignored the wire while the people were still there... I looked around furtively when they were gone and disposed of the evidence... and began to plot the cover-up. If you're wondering where the wire came from... so was I. After some surreptitious investigation (the band constable came over and told me there was no communication with the camp I was just at over the HF radio), I brilliantly deducted that I now owned an HF antenna.
Unfortunately, I had to go back to the camp to pick up the people I had dropped off that fateful day... or it would have been ok with me to fade from the memory of people around there. As I landed at the camp I was rehearsing the explanation and apology in my mind to make sure it all came out right at the camp. As everyone gathered around I did my best to put on a brave face (and decided to play dumb). The head of the camp (who had been my passenger a few days before) walked up to me. The dialogue went something like this (names ommitted... and you have to do his voice in a northern aboriginal accent):
Him: "Uhh... you make a lot of work for me!"
Me: "What do you mean?"
Him: "You see those two trees?"
Me: "Yes, I flew between them when I left here the other day."
Him: ".....We know.... Our trapline radio antenna was between those two trees..."
Me: "Oh? Did I hit it?"
Him: (looking me straight in the eye) "Uhh... You hit it alright.... and the radio was yanked from the tent and went bouncing through the camp... and we all try to catch it but it gets away... and then Hector", at this point he points with his thumb at a young man who has bandages all over his face and an arm in a sling, "tackled it and you dragged him through the camp and then over all the logs and stumps between here and the lake.... it's a good thing he got wedged under a fallen tree or you would have taken him water-skiing!!!"
Me: "(speechless)"
Him: "Anyway, are we ready to go?"
In retrospect, that take-off was even more of an accomplishment than I'd thought!
CT
P.S. This story was intended to amuse people with the details of one man's folly. I don't condone any of the actions that took place here... with the exception of Hector tackling the radio... that was a good move... or I might have landed with it.
P.P.S. I would like to invite others to share their stories. I have heard so many over so many pints... it's good to get them recorded for posterity... I may have already broken the rule with my story, but "brevity being the sole of wit", a short rendition of what happened and how it wasn't your fault would be welcome.
Cheers,
CT
What a great tale! Having flown extensively in the north and having dealt with the people, as I read the story I get a vivid video in my mind's eye of how it all took place. The north and the bush is an amazing place, with lots of stories and memories. Thanks for this memory!!
Steve
Engine screaming, "Wile E. Coyote" pumped the railway car. In the distance behind the helicopter, "Hector" was not letting go.....!
Okay, just to change the pattern of the last few weeks I thought I'd share a story of something that happened to me when I first started in helicopters. Everything is completely factual, with names and locations changed or ommitted to protect the innocent (I.E. Guilty!):
I was flying in my first season after getting my licence. The machine was a turbocharged piston that actually was a good performer when it wasn't overloaded (which pretty much meant when I was alone). I had just dropped off some native trappers at a fishing camp and had to take a guy and his wife back to the community we were working out of. This was all taking place during "freeze-up", when many of the northern communities of central Canada rely on helicopters for almost all transportation.
After I unloaded the guys I brought in, the people I was to bring back to town showed up with all their stuff. I stood there using four-letter words as I surveyed the pile of guns, beavers, ducks, geese, moose meat and fish that I was somehow supposed to take-off with and fly 50 miles to town. Finally, muttering under my breath, I started loading the machine...luckily(?) I had utility baskets on the side of the machine to handle the bulky articles. I quickly noticed the pile didn't seem to be diminishing as the baskets filled up... then I found out why... every time I turned my head to load the machine, someone threw more birds on the pile! When I caught them at that I swore loudly at everybody for about five minutes... the placid calm that they exhibited at my, very vituperative, onslaught told me they'd heard it all before.
So, I was finally loaded up and ready to go. In a move that preceded air-bags in cars by several years, I had securely packed ducks and geese around the front seat occupants to protect them in the event of a hard-landing. With all secure I went to full-throttle... this apparently was a signal for everyone in the camp to gather in front of the helicopter grinning toothily (some of them anyway). Brimming with confidence I calculated how many "extra" RPM's I might need to clear the trees in front of me (at this point I had such a death-grip on the cyclic I could barely squeeze the trigger due to cramping), inhaling deeply I pulled pitch, rotated and "went for it" (a very exciting if not-recommended departure procedure... however, very necessary in this "situation"). As I climbed, all the people ran under the helicopter spinning and smiling like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. "Oh well" I muttered, "it'll be a soft landing if the engine quits". As the trees approached I started to worry a bit, as it appeared the tips of the blades were barely going to clear... confirmed seconds later as the fuselage passed through two tallish trees like Lui Passaglia kicking a field goal. Suddenly the low-rotor horn sounded, "right on schedule" I thought as I lowered the collective slightly to recover RPM. As I "milked" the collective, at tree-top level, with all those people still running beneath me, I felt a bit like Wile E. Coyote, cranking that hand railway cart as he chased the roadrunner. Finally, the trees gave way to lake and I could dive, get some airspeed and silence the horn as the RPM came back into the green. I leaned back and smiled with pleasure at another successful take-off.
So, after an uneventful flight :wacko:, I landed to disgorge my passengers. It wasn't until I walked around the front of the machine that I discovered (by tripping on it) a steel wire, roughly the size and consistency of very thick guitar string, hanging off the pitot tube. It was wrapped very tightly around the tube, and then trailed over the toe of the left skid and thence down the left side of the aircraft for about 40 feet. Since this put the wire well past the tailrotor... which was on the same side... I had a moment of pride that I always flew in trim :blink:.
At this point was where my finely honed "pilot instincts" took over. I ignored the wire while the people were still there... I looked around furtively when they were gone and disposed of the evidence... and began to plot the cover-up. If you're wondering where the wire came from... so was I. After some surreptitious investigation (the band constable came over and told me there was no communication with the camp I was just at over the HF radio), I brilliantly deducted that I now owned an HF antenna.
Unfortunately, I had to go back to the camp to pick up the people I had dropped off that fateful day... or it would have been ok with me to fade from the memory of people around there. As I landed at the camp I was rehearsing the explanation and apology in my mind to make sure it all came out right at the camp. As everyone gathered around I did my best to put on a brave face (and decided to play dumb). The head of the camp (who had been my passenger a few days before) walked up to me. The dialogue went something like this (names ommitted... and you have to do his voice in a northern aboriginal accent):
Him: "Uhh... you make a lot of work for me!"
Me: "What do you mean?"
Him: "You see those two trees?"
Me: "Yes, I flew between them when I left here the other day."
Him: ".....We know.... Our trapline radio antenna was between those two trees..."
Me: "Oh? Did I hit it?"
Him: (looking me straight in the eye) "Uhh... You hit it alright.... and the radio was yanked from the tent and went bouncing through the camp... and we all try to catch it but it gets away... and then Hector", at this point he points with his thumb at a young man who has bandages all over his face and an arm in a sling, "tackled it and you dragged him through the camp and then over all the logs and stumps between here and the lake.... it's a good thing he got wedged under a fallen tree or you would have taken him water-skiing!!!"
Me: "(speechless)"
Him: "Anyway, are we ready to go?"
In retrospect, that take-off was even more of an accomplishment than I'd thought!
CT
P.S. This story was intended to amuse people with the details of one man's folly. I don't condone any of the actions that took place here... with the exception of Hector tackling the radio... that was a good move... or I might have landed with it.
P.P.S. I would like to invite others to share their stories. I have heard so many over so many pints... it's good to get them recorded for posterity... I may have already broken the rule with my story, but "brevity being the sole of wit", a short rendition of what happened and how it wasn't your fault would be welcome.
Cheers,
CT
What a great tale! Having flown extensively in the north and having dealt with the people, as I read the story I get a vivid video in my mind's eye of how it all took place. The north and the bush is an amazing place, with lots of stories and memories. Thanks for this memory!!
Steve
Engine screaming, "Wile E. Coyote" pumped the railway car. In the distance behind the helicopter, "Hector" was not letting go.....!
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Steve's New Years Resolution
It is the time of year to make what could possibly be a life-changing decision. Time to step up to the plate and do it. You know, lately I have been reading such negative things about the war in Iraq, the tsunami devastation, the bad effects of alcohol, tobacco, over-eating, and sex, that my New Year's Resolution is.....to give up READING!!
